


Culture Shock

by runawayballista



Series: The Diamondflame War [1]
Category: Baten Kaitos
Genre: Gen, History Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Y895] Tsubame's family fled from Azha in the hopes of finding sanctuary, but the people of Nashira don't take kindly to strangers -- until the son of the fisherman next door began to bring them fish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Gahal and Talim had fled from Azha, trying to escape being crushed under the oppressive shadow cast by their newly elected Emperor, they had had no firm destination in mind. With the little money they had left and a two-year-old child who was quickly outgrowing her ragged clothes and shoes, their only desire was to find a place where they could provide for their daughter. Gahal was a stone-carver and Talim wove baskets from the hardy, dry grasses that grew in select places in the desert. Neither was particularly educated or wealthy, but before the reign of Tyreus, they had never found themselves wanting for anything. Now that the Azhani were being treated as little more than indentured slaves to the Empire, they could hardly afford to feed their baby.

They had heard of Diadem, the land of the clouds, where the people were treated fairly by their just king. No one ever wanted for anything in Diadem, they heard. The people were generous, and most of all, no one ever went thirsty.

They took their few precious belongings and made themselves a home in Nashira. They had been able to purchase a small cottage cheaply as its previous owner had died of illness in bed; to the residents of the village, such was a bad omen, and the old man had no family and no one else would take it. Gahal took up making stone-carved bowls and cups to sell at the market, etching them with traditional Azhani patterns, and Talim learned to weave baskets from the supple rushes that grew along the banks of the Lesser Celestial River. They had planned on being happy.

But as it turned out, the people of Nashira didn’t take too kindly to strangers.

The burbling generosity of the people of Diadem seemed to extend only among their own kind. Gahal and Talim watched as their neighbors exchanged friendly conversations, gave each other gifts and aided one another thanklessly, only to turn away from the Azhani immigrants, to ignore their warm greetings as if they slipped thinly through the air and fell to the ground unheard.

Few people would buy their wares. They said the Azhani were bad luck to the village, that the catch would suffer for it. Even when Talim tried to go to her neighbors and give them baskets and bowls as gifts, as signs of good will and warmth, they slowly closed the doors in her face. Only the small cottage right next to theirs had accepted anything from them, but the gruff-faced man of the house, at least ten years her senior, had had a cold look about him when he did so. They didn’t receive anything in return.

Their dreams of prosperity, of a well-earned living, slowly began to wither and die. Every week, it was getting harder to sell anything to their neighbors, and other vendors in the market were frequently unkind. Gahal and Talim began to despair. If they couldn’t live here, they didn’t know where else they could go.

One night, after the daily catch had come in and the sun was sinking below the clouds, there was a knock at the door. Talim and Gahal exchanged an alarmed glance. No one had ever come to their door before. Gahal opted to answer it, opening the door slowly.

He recognized the boy on the stoop as the son of the gruff-faced man next door. He bore a striking resemblance to his father, except that he chose to wear his hair long, tied back with what looked like a piece of fishing line. Although he looked no older than fourteen or so, he was already quite muscular. In his hands was a plate of raw fish, which he offered to Gahal with a sheepish look on his face. His right arm bore a tattoo of a stylized school of fish swimming in a foamy current. It looked as though it had long since healed.

“Uh…this is for you.” Although he seemed embarrassed, it didn’t appear to be because he was afraid of being seen with the Azhani family. “It’s sea bream. You have a little kid, right? Well, this is really good for growing kids. Don’t worry about taking it. We had extra.”

Gahal had no time to politely refuse or even thank him, because the boy bolted as soon as the plate left his hands. Gahal could have sworn, though, that he saw the boy flash him a smile as he ducked back into his own home.

Talim had never cooked a fish before, and the end result had an unpleasantly oily texture although the surface was almost blackened. But it was the first real meal they’d had in a few days, and they were happy to eat it — even little Tsubame didn’t fuss.

They didn’t see the boy for a few days, despite their best efforts to pass along their thanks, but there was a plate of fresh, raw fish on their windowsill every evening when they returned from the market. Talim’s attempts to prepare the fish as skillfully as she often did meat were still largely unsuccessful, but they were hungry and would not complain.

Tsubame soon caught cold, and though it wasn’t serious, Talim stayed home with her that day. By the time Gahal returned from the market, there had been no knock at the door, nor was there any fish left on their windowsill. They were quietly relieved. They couldn’t in good conscience continue to accept gifts from this young boy whose name they did not even know.

But when the knock finally came, Gahal all but jumped to answer it. The boy was standing there, bearing a whole, large fish in a basket. His cheeks were ruddy and his breathing was slightly labored. He presented the basket to Gahal.

“You’re from the desert, right?” he started. “If you don’t mind, I can show you how to gut it — and, uh, prepare it. I’ve smelled the smoke from your cooking fires,” he added sheepishly.

“Please,” Gahal said, his voice strained. “We can’t accept this.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re hurting anyone by taking it.” The boy managed a grin. “I caught it myself, so…it’s not like it came out of the catch or anything.”

Gahal’s weathered features were touched with surprise, and then, curiosity. “Why? We’re…” He glanced back inside at his wife and his young child, softly asleep on Talim’s lap. “We’re outsiders. We don’t even know your name.”

The boy shrugged. “Because. You have a little kid to feed, and you have to eat, too. I don’t think it’s fair the way the rest of the village treats you. The way I see it, you’re not outsiders. Sure, you might be from Alfard, but…you live here now. That makes you one of us.” He smiled, and held the basket out again. “And since you asked, I’m Tobari. So, what do you say — you want me to show you how to gut that fish?”

===

Tobari liked to talk — friendly, idly conversation interspersed with his easygoing, heartful laugh, and it was the kind of conversation that put both Gahal and Talim at ease. In between bits of advice on the proper ways to gut a fish, he talked about his family and the village. His father, Dulbari, was the head fisherman in the village, in charge of coordinating the daily catch and seeing to it that everyone got their fair share of pay for the work they did. His mother’s name was Felrys. For the most part, she stayed at home and indoors; Gahal and Talim had only ever caught occasional glimpses of her through an open window. They learned that this was because she was a sickly woman, and had been ever since Tobari was born. There was a slight trace of guilt on the boy’s face when he spoke of his mother, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

Tobari showed them how to cook the fish properly, how to achieve a more desirous texture and flavor. Rich, enticing smells filled their small house, rousing little Tsubame from her nap. She stirred on the bed in the corner of the house and rolled over slowly, watching Tobari and her parents with large, hazel eyes. Talim moved over to the bed and swept Tsubame up in her arms.

“Ah, it looks like someone’s up. Are you feeling better, little one?” Talim swept the hair from her daughter’s face and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Ah, good. Your fever’s gone down.”

Tsubame wriggled insistently until Talim set her down on the floor, and she approached Tobari with a cautiously curious look. Tobari stood there at the counter, grinning nervously as one often does around other people’s children.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said slowly, trying to appear as friendly and nonthreatening as possible. Either way, Tsubame didn’t seem frightened of him. “What’s your name?”

Rather than respond, she pointed up at him and asked her mother, “Who’s this?”

“Tsubame, that’s not nice,” said Talim quickly, gently pushing her hand down. “This is Tobari. He’s our — our friend.”

Tsubame waddled a little closer to Tobari, looking him up and down. Tobari waited for her to move. She wrinkled her nose at him a bit.

“You smell funny,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that’s ’cause I spent all day hauling fish off a boat,” Tobari said, laughing a little. “If you touched all those fish, you’d smell funny, too.”

“You’re big,” she said, slightly in awe.

“Fish are heavy,” he replied, grinning, and flexed one of his muscular arms for her. Tsubame’s mouth opened in a little O of surprise, her eyes wide. “When you lift heavy things, you get big muscles like these.”

The two-year-old patted one of his legs, giggling. “Big muscles!”

Tobari couldn’t help but chuckle himself. “If you think these are big, you should see my dad’s!”

Tsubame clapped her hands in delight, and Talim tried to sweep her away from the counter to let Tobari work. “Come on, little one, Tobari is making us dinner,” she cooed. “Let’s stay out of his way.”

“No!” Tsubame insisted, trying to wriggle away again. “Wanna watch!”

“Oh, let her look,” said Gahal. He took Tsubame from his wife and propped her up on his shoulder, so that she could see all of the kitchen. “Look, little one. You can see a master at work!”

“I’m no master,” Tobari insisted, but the way he cut and prepared the fish spoke of careful experience and years of tradition. Before long, the meal was finished, its rich aromas flooding the little house, and the four of them sat down to dinner, Tsubame on her father’s lap.

Gahal and Talim marveled at the succulent texture of the fish, of the perfect melding of flavors, and Tobari merely looked away bashfully and muttered something about how nothing was really all that hard once you knew how to do it. After they had finished their meal, Gahal and Talim asked Tobari to stay, just for a little while longer, and tell them more about the village they had made their home, how they could endear themselves to the people here. Tobari stayed with them until the stove fire had dwindled to embers, eagerly talking about his village and its myriad ways, and by the time the sun had set, Tobari had talked himself hoarse and Tsubame had dozed off to sleep in Gahal’s lap. As the last streaks of sunlight began to fade from the house, Tobari got to his feet.

“I should probably get going,” he said, an apologetic tone to his voice. “My momma probably needs a hand with the washing.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” said Talim, rising with him. She clasped one of his hands in hers, her eyes earnest. “Please. You’re welcome here any time.”

Tobari grinned, a little self-consciously. “Don’t thank me. I’m just doing what anyone in this village should do. Besides, you got a little kid to look after.” He glanced at Tsubame, asleep on her father’s lap, as he opened the door. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night!”


	2. Chapter 2

Their newly formed bond with Tobari was uplifting. It seemed like some of ugly, unfriendly cast over Nashira had been shined away; though the rest of the village still ignored them, there was a small sliver of hope peeking through now. Gahal went to market the next day bearing his wares with a newfound glimmer of hope, however small.

His mood, however, didn’t improve the sales. Although people were growing less wary about approaching his stall, he still had nearly a full cart to take back to the house. By the time he arrived back home his back and legs were sore and tired from pulling the cart both ways. Although he was still young, it was a heavy load to pull all by himself.

Talim had stayed home with Tsubame again, even though her fever was mostly gone. When she opened the door for Gahal, she immediately began to help him unload the cart, moving briskly to finish before it got too dark.

“Hey! Miz Talim! Mister Gahal!”

It was Tobari, poking his head out of the front door of his house. He waved to his neighbors.

“Do you want a hand with that?”

Gahal smiled, though a bit tired, and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Thank you, Tobari, but that’s all right.”

“Okay, if you’re sure…well, uh — ” He glanced back inside the house, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. “Actually, if you’re not busy, my parents wanted to invite you over for dinner.”

Gahal and Talim exchanged a look of surprise. “Are you sure?” said Talim. “Are they — is it all right with your parents?”

“Of course! Come on, they want to meet you. You know, _meet_ you, for real.” Tobari grinned. “Don’t worry. They wouldn’t invite you if they didn’t really want you to come. And bring Tsubame, too! I bet my momma would just love her.”

“What should we bring?”

“Nothing! I promise, it’s okay. It’s all on us. Really, my parents just want to meet you. Look, I can even help you with getting all your stuff back inside, and then you can come over.” Tobari’s tone was almost pleading, and Gahal and Talim found that they could hardly say no.

===

Tobari seemed like the kind of boy who had several siblings, but the only other inhabitants of the house next door were Dulbari and Felrys. Although the house was not much bigger than Gahal and Talim’s, it somehow felt empty with just Tobari and his parents. Just as Tobari had said, their welcome was warm; although they remembered Dulbari as being grim and foreboding, there was a definite friendly charm to his gruff features now. Dulbari ushered the family into their home, closing the door behind them.

“Thank you for having us,” said Gahal, bowing his head in thanks. “Ever since we moved here, it’s been…well…we weren’t expecting anyone to be as kind to us as you and your son have been recently.”

“Please, it’s nothing.” Dulbari waved a massive hand dismissively. Despite Fenrys’s slight build, it seemed as though Tobari had taken after his father — sturdy, muscular, and huge. He was tattooed all over  “And as Tobari has been so insistently reminding us, it is we who have failed to treat you as our neighbors, and for that I apologize deeply. I hope that in the future, we can make up for where the rest of the village has fallen short.”

“I’m sure they’ll come around.” Fenrys’s voice was every bit as soft as her appearance, barely audible over the crackling cooking fire.

“They’d better!” Tobari crossed his arms, twisting his mouth into a half-frown. “I mean, yeah, I’ll admit — even we were a little unsure at first, because, you know…outsiders hanging around too much, that’s bad luck. But you don’t even count as outsiders anymore! You’re here to stay! And they have to realize that!”

Fenrys smiled wanly, brushing a long lock of dark hair behind her ear. She looked like a woman who had once been famously beautiful, but whose youth was slowly beginning to waste away. It was apparent in the way her skin clung to her cheeks, the way her color had slowly dulled from a healthy rosy pink to a translucent pallor, the way her hair fell limply around her face. She was still beautiful, in a quiet, tarnished sort of way. “Please, Tobari. There’s no need to get so upset. I’m sure that once they see that their suspicions are unfounded, everyone will see.” She moved toward the other family, holding her hands out gently. “Ah, but I’m sorry. Proper introductions haven’t even been made. My name is Fenrys, and this is my husband Dulbari.”

“Thank you so much for inviting us into your home, Fenrys,” Talim said, every word sincere. “I’m Talim, and this is Gahal, and this here is little Tsubame.” She rocked the child in her arms, who had a fistful of her mother’s dress clenched tightly in one hand.

“What a beautiful child…” Fenrys made as if to touch Tsubame’s hair, but seemed to catch herself and withdrew her pale hand. “How old is she?”

“Two and a half,” Talim said, smiling, and tried to jostle her daughter just slightly to get her attention. “Little one, why don’t you say hello?”

Tsubame, however, said nothing. Her eyes were wide and trained on Dulbari, watching his enormous muscles ripple and flex beneath the skin as he scraped the scales off, then worked the knife through the fish’s gut. She clung to her mother, her mouth hanging open.

“He’s _big_ ,” she squeaked.

Tobari burst out laughing. “See, I told you!”

“Little one, it’s not polite to stare,” Talim said quietly, looking embarrassed. Fenrys let out a light laugh that seemed to be at odds with her appearance.

“It’s all right. She’s only a child.” Fenrys smiled at Tsubame, and drew a small object wrapped in brightly colored paper from her pocket. “Would you like a sweet, Tsubame? Dinner will be a little while yet.”

Tsubame clapped her hands in delight, and Fenrys unwrapped the sweet and placed it in her little hands. The little girl immediately began nibbling at the sweet, a small pastry filled with candied fruit. It was unlike anything they had in Azha, and she had never tasted anything like it.

“Say thank you, little one,” Talim said, gently coaching her. Tsubame uttered a muffled sentence which sounded close enough. Talim gave Fenrys an embarrassed smile.

“She’s very sweet,” said Fenrys, as if in reassurance. “And she seems quite fond of Tobari…”

“He’s a fine son you have,” said Gahal. “You must be very proud.”

“We are.” But when Fenrys glanced at her son, there seemed to be a strange longing in her eyes, something sad and deeply buried. “He works very hard with his father. Dulbari is the head fisherman, you know. If Tobari could hold that position someday…well, it would be good for the family.”

“Of course.” Gahal nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and then pulling them back out again. He seemed antsy. “Is there something I can do to help with dinner?”

“No, sit back!” Dulbari waved one arm, gesturing toward the chairs around the table. “Please, we didn’t invite you here to make you work. Just relax!”

Tsubame wriggled insistently in her mother’s grip until Talim put her down, and she made a mad dash for Tobari, who had begun chopping vegetables next to his father. She tugged on his trouser leg insistently, waving the half-eaten sweet.

“Whoa, hey, kiddo — don’t you know you never surprise a guy with a knife in his hand?” Tobari put the knife down and wiped his hands on his vest. “What’s up?”

Tsubame beamed, holding up the sweet. “Wanna bite?”

“Heh, that’s okay, Tsubame. You have it.”

Tsubame pursed her lips and held it out to him insistently. “Wanna share!”

To gratify her, Tobari took the sweet and took a tiny bite out of it. “Mmm, that’s good!”

For some reason, this seemed to please her immensely, and she clapped her hands and let out a little peal of laughter. Tobari gave the rest of the sweet back to her and she ran off again, back to her mother at the table. Talim scooped her daughter up into her lap, brushing crumbs away from her face. Tobari smiled despite himself.

“You know, uh,” he started glancing, at his mother, “I don’t go fishing every day. Sometimes I stay home with my momma. I know it’s gotta be tough to look after a little kid while you’re trying to work, so if you want, we could watch her while you’re at the market sometimes.”

Talim and Gahal exchanged glances. “Well, it would be a big help,” Gahal admitted. “But…we don’t want to trouble you any more than we already have. You have already been so generous…”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” said Fenrys. Her eyes fell on Tsubame, and she smiled again. “It would be our pleasure.”

It wasn’t much longer before the preparations for dinner were finished, and the hiss of hot oil filled the small house. The smell of frying fish and vegetables blossomed over the wood stove, permeating the air around them and filling their noses thickly. Soon it was time to eat, and the conversation died down as food began to compete with words for room in their mouths. As the evening wore on, Gahal and Talim found their wary inhibitions slipping away. Much like with Tobari, they found it nearly impossible not to like Dulbari and Fenrys. Their warmth was infectious, and they were so very genuine. They found it hard to believe that this family were the same neighbors who had been so cold to them in the last few months — now, it seemed as though they had always been friends. Gahal and Talim were grateful for their hospitality.


	3. Chapter 3

Dulbari was head fisherman, and as such he had a certain degree of sway over the community of Nashira. Attitudes were contagious, and especially those of high status. In the days and weeks following Gahal and Talim’s newly forged bond with Dulbari and his family, they began to notice a change in their neighbors. A gradual change, to be sure — it had started with just Tobari, but it spread, slowly but surely, touching other people one by one. It would take months for those changes to set in, to really take hold, but they noticed it all the same. Little by little, people began to regard them a little less warily. The people of Nashira began to approach their stall at the market, and they began to make idle talk with Gahal and Talim. They started to buy their carefully crafted bowls and baskets. People asked their names, remembered them, cooed at their small daughter. Little by little, they were allowed into the community, taken under the wing of the village. They began to belong.

Their poverty began to ease into prosperity, however modest at first. They could afford, for once, to buy their own fish, feed their daughter on their own coin. They no longer needed to rely on the generosity of Tobari and his family just to get by. Gahal and Talim invited their neighbors over for dinner for once, cooked for them the traditional foods of the desert. It became a habit, trading meals at one another’s houses, and soon it wasn’t only Tobari and his family as guests. Other members of the village — people who had previously given them cold looks and turned them away — joined with them at meals, laughed at their stories and traded advice.

The days of struggle and isolation began to fall behind them, though Gahal and Talim would never forget them. They tasted daily life in Nashira as they had dreamed it, as it had been meant to be. They settled into it as though it had always been there, as though their feet were tracing a path long-remembered.

===

Months passed, and Tobari turned fifteen. Dulbari and Fenrys had a gathering at their home, and it seemed that half the village was invited. As Gahal and Talim learned, in Diadem, turning fifteen was a coming of age. It was an important year for Tobari, a year in which he would become a real man of his trade. He was gifted with a fishing boat from his father — a small vessel, but it was the first he could really call his own. The way in which Dulbari swelled with pride as Tobari christened his very first boat at the docks was undeniable.

The party was held at Dulbari and Fenrys’s house, but there were so many attendants that it would be more accurate to say that the party was held around their house. Gahal assisted Dulbari with the open-fire grill, on which various filets of fish sizzled and hissed, giving off hearty fumes. People gathered around the food and fires, chattering animatedly, and Tobari was at the center of it all. On his shoulder was a fresh tattoo, still raw and red, of the legendary Whale. It was in far greater detail than his other tattoo, and it didn’t look quite finished. Everyone was congratulating Tobari, clapping him on the back and welcoming him into the ranks of adulthood. He couldn’t keep the dopey grin off his face, the look of pride not unlike his father’s.

Tsubame was clamoring at his side, having escaped her mother’s watchful gaze. She slapped at his arm, demanding his attention. “Up! Up!”

“You got it, kiddo!” With one arm, he swept her up onto his good shoulder. She screeched with laughter, little feet kicking, and grabbed onto Tobari’s head to keep herself steady, although he kept a hand on her legs. Having watched over her for the last few months while Gahal and Talim were out at the market, Tobari had gotten quite close to Tsubame. It was rather a lot like having a little cousin around.

Talim caught up to Tobari not too long later, looking exasperated. “There you are,” she said, clucking her tongue at Tsubame. “Little one, don’t you know it’s dangerous to run off like that? I’m sorry, Tobari.”

Tobari couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. If you want, I can keep an eye on her. She’s not going to go far up here.” He patted Tsubame’s legs, and Talim smiled wryly.

“She is rather attached to you,” she said, sighing, although she was pleased. “But it’s good that I found you. I wanted to give this to you.” She handed him a small parcel, wrapped in colored paper and tied with a piece of twin. Tobari immediately looked bashful, even as he took it.

“Aw — Miz Talim, you didn’t have to get me anything, you know…”

She shook her head, smiling. “No, we want you to take it. Please. Let it be a sign of gratitude and friendship.”

Using one hand to hold Tsubame steady, Tobari used his teeth to pull open the twine and paper. Inside the parcel was a strip of leather with a hole punched in one end, and a finely woven word on the other. The leather was painted with a bright, decorative geometric pattern Tobari had never seen before.

“Gahal and I made it,” said Talim. “It’s for your hair. I noticed you tie it with fishing line, and it’s always coming loose. You have quite a lot of hair, and I thought this might be useful. The design is an Azhani one, meant to bring good luck.”

Tobari’s face broke into a huge grin, and he threw his free arm around Talim in a hug. “Thanks, Miz Talim! I love it! You guys are great!” Talim returned the hug with both arms, giving him a squeeze.

“You’re very dear to us, you know,” she said, smiling. “To little Tsubame, especially.”

Tobari went a little red around the ears, and he almost looked embarrassed, but overwhelmingly happy. “You guys are important to me, too. And my family. I mean…”

Talim placed a hand on his arm, being careful not to touch the fresh tattoo. She smiled at him. “Happy birthday, Tobari.”

===

Things only improved for the Azhani family over the next few months. Before much longer, the other villagers seemed to forget they were even immigrants. And although they had formed important friendships and alliances with other people in the village, they still held relationship they had with Tobari’s family above all others. There was something special there, something close, and it became an unshakable bond. There was a certain security in it that went deeper than just the way they had rescued their Azhani neighbors from the brink of starvation, from having to return to the home they had fought so hard to escape. It was like being family.

Although Tobari’s new duties took him away from the home now on a daily basis, Fenrys happily watched over Tsubame while Gahal and Talim worked, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about her. But even in the evenings, now, Tobari insisted on coming over to watch their little girl while they cooked dinner, so she wouldn’t get underfoot. He played with her and entertained her, and she slept soundly most nights, her energy spent on Tobari’s company. He was like a close cousin, taking her to the river when it was calm enough and going on walks with her around the village, slipping her treats when he thought her parents weren’t looking. There was a warm glow that had settled over Nashira, and it seemed the heart of it had begun between Tobari and Tsubame.

But before long, the clouds over Nashira grew dark.

When Diadem entered its rainy season, the waters of the Lesser Celestial River grew unwieldy, thrashing about and turning the current foamy. It was a dangerous season for fishermen, and not one they took lightly. Tobari’s new boat was ill-equipped to handle the frothing rapids of the rainy season, and so he could only venture out to the river in the older fishers’ larger, sturdier boats. Most days, though, he stayed home. This time of year, his mother fell ill rather often and needed care, and besides which he wasn’t quite experienced enough yet to deal with the terrible storms that plagued Diadem’s skies.

The rain was torrential that day, the clouds dark and roiling with it. It beat down on the docks and roads and the roofs that suddenly seemed all too thin. Talim and Gahal discovered a leak in theirs when they invited Fenrys over for tea and a fat droplet of water suddenly plinked down on her head. She had looked so startled, this pale, fragile little woman’s eyes suddenly wide with surprised, that Talim almost laughed to herself. But even when Fenrys moved her chair a little to the side, the drip began to come in steadily. Tobari set about fixing the leak, standing up to inspect the low ceiling on a stool, while Fenrys kept little Tsubame out of his way.

Even after Tobari fixed the leak with a little plaster, the rain kept on coming down. It beat out a steady rhythm, drowning out all other sound from outside, and it hummed loud and low in the background all day. Tsubame was fitful with the weather, restless and agitated at not being able to play outside. When Talim tried to put her down for an afternoon nap, she refused and kicked her little legs and cried until she was red in the face. When she had exhausted herself in her tantrum, however, she finally knocked herself out, an hour later than they had wanted.

On days like this, even though it was still early in the season, it seemed the sun had abandoned the sky mid-afternoon, the air almost as dark as night. It was nearly impossible to tell the time from the light of the sky. So when a knock came at the door at least an hour earlier than they were expecting, Gahal glanced at the clock just to make sure.

They opened the door expecting to see Dulbari, but they saw instead one of the other fishermen, a wiry man of deceptive strength by the name of Algir. His ordinarily wild hair had been tamed by the rain, hanging limply around his face. He looked grim.

“Please, come in,” said Gahal, stepping out of the way. “The weather is terrible.”

Algir didn’t respond, even as Talim got a towel and handed it to him. He dried his face and hands off with the towel, although water still dripped quietly from the ends of his hair. He was a man of few words, in habit, but the fact that he remained silent even now, with his face as stony as it was, unnerved him. Fenrys’s concerned eyes roved over his face, and she pressed her lips together tightly.

“Algir?” she asked, her voice as unintrusive as a quiet breeze. “What’s wrong?”

“Dulbari’s ship sank,” he said quietly. No prelude, no warning. “The storm, it swallowed her up…the river was going too fast for any of us to get to him. He took a tumble down the fall, and…by the time we got to him, it was too late. I’m sorry.”

Algir’s announcement came too swiftly for Fenrys. She let out a choked sound, collapsing in her chair. Had she been standing, she would surely have hit the ground. Talim rushed to her side, supporting her with an arm around Fenrys’s slender shoulders. Tobari, however, merely stood in front of Algir, shoulders tight, and stared at him. His face was almost angry with disbelief.

“What do you mean, it was too late? What are you trying to say, huh? Are you telling me my dad is _dead_?” There was a challenge in his words, as if daring Algir to say it. His eyes burned, but Algir only looked at him with that grim, solemn face.

“I’m sorry, Tobari,” was all he said, and, returning the towel to Gahal, he opened the door and retreated back out to the rain.

“Hey! You bastard! Get back here!” Tobari ran out after him, before Gahal could move to stop the boy. Tobari’s sandal-clad feet pounded against the rain-slick ground, his angry shouts ringing out like thunder. “Algir! Don’t you walk away! You turn around and you tell me! You tell me my dad’s dead!”

Algir didn’t turn back, shoulders hunched, hair plastered to the back of his neck. He walked away steadily, slowly fading into the dark of the storm. Gahal caught up to Tobari, placing a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. Tobari’s hair and clothes were already soaked through in the heavy rain, drops slipping down along the fierce, snarling set of his jaw.

“Tobari.” Gahal’s voice was insistent. “Tobari, come back inside. Yelling at him isn’t going to make it any better.”

Tobari only let out an angry snort and knocked Gahal’s hand away, but he started back for the house anyway, every foot a furious stomp. Gahal cast one look back at Algir’s retreating figure, which had become little more than a distant shadow, and followed after Tobari with a sigh.

=== 

The funeral was held a scant few days later. The rain had hardly let up since then, and though it was no longer storming, it still poured down steadily. Some of the funeral attendants held umbrellas over their heads, but most just chose to bear the rain. Fenrys looked all the more frail, clad in a plain black gown, and at her side, Tobari wore a black sash. Most of the anger seemed to have washed away by now, and he stood by his mother stiff and sullen, his jaw set.

Talim and Gahal stood behind Fenrys and Tobari, shielding themselves and their daughter with a broad umbrella. They had taken to caring for Dulbari’s family in the last few days, with Fenrys too weak with grief to do much, and Tobari swaddled in a mess of anger and disbelief. But there was nothing they could do to care for them now, not here, not as they laid their husband and father to rest.

Amry, a fisherwoman who had worked closely with Dulbari, was delivering the eulogy, her voice partly drowned out by the rain, and Tobari heard next to none of it. She’d probably be the next head fisher, now that his dad was dead. He felt bad now about the way he’d yelled at Algir, but not bad enough to apologize yet. He couldn’t understand the unfathomable sadness into which his mother had fallen, the way she wept for hours at night and could hardly tear herself from her bed, now cold and lonely. All he felt was something sick and tired and tightly clenched in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t understand it.

As Amry’s eulogy waned toward its end, the attendants of the funeral began to whisper and murmur amongst themselves. At first Tobari mistook their mutterings for the quiet prayers over the dead, but the words carried themselves to him through the rain. They were far too harsh to lay the dead to rest.

“What awful luck…Nashira’s falling on hard times, for sure.”

“This would never have happened if we hadn’t allowed those outsiders into our village — what will happen to the catch now that Dulbari’s gone?”

“It’s their fault — we let them in, let them sit in our boats and become part of our village, and all we’ve been rewarded with is ill fortune. It was a mistake, I’m telling you.”

“They’ve brought nothing but trouble upon us. It’s a dark omen for the village…”

He glanced over his shoulder briefly. He wasn’t the only one who could hear them; Gahal and Talim looked suddenly uncomfortable, huddling closer together as if that might protect them. The villagers’ words buzzed in Tobari’s ears, the volume rising ever boldly, even as Amry continued her solemn eulogy over his father. Tobari’s chest burned, and when he swallowed, he tasted thickly the bitter tang of anger he had felt in his mouth when Algir had delivered the news of his father’s death.

“Hey!” His voice rang out, sharp and angry, cutting through the rain. Amry stopped abruptly, looking up as though startled. “Hey, you think we can’t hear you? How dare you…the nerve of it! To blame an _accident_ on Miz Talim and Mister Gahal! They’ve got nothing to do with this, and you know it! You think they’ve brought bad luck on this village by trying to make a life here? That’s disgusting! You’re the ones bringing bad luck to the village, spreading awful talk like this at my _father’s funeral_! Wasn’t he a man you respected and loved? Where’s your respect now?!”

“Tobari,” Fenrys said, her voice pained, and she touched her son on the shoulder.

“No! Momma, do you hear them? They’re sullying Dad’s funeral with this…this…this load of Pow dung!” Tobari’s voice turned hoarse as he shouted, his face burning red. “They’re not outsiders, they’re part of the village now! They’re just like us, don’t you get that?! Mister Gahal and Miz Talim have done nothing wrong! All they wanted was a safe place to raise their baby, and they’ve only tried to fit in and make friends with you…and it worked! And now, just because my dad died in a stupid accident, you’re going to turn on them? You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

The crowd fell into shocked silence. Even Amry seemed to be at a loss for anything to say. After a few long moments filled with nothing but the sound of heavy rainfall, timid Fenrys stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on her son’s arm. “He’s right,” she said, her soft voice barely carrying itself. “Gahal and Talim have been nothing short of true friends, especially recently. They’ve taken care of us, and helped with the funeral arrangements, even though they have a child to attend to. If anything, they should be considered an omen of hope for our village. Please…don’t disturb Dulbari’s peace with such awful talk. Let’s go back to the way things were. That’s how Dulbari would want it…”

The crowd was still quiet, but now their silence was a guilty one. One by one, the villagers murmured their apologies, and after an uncertain cough, Amry began to finish her eulogy. Tobari let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, his shoulders heaving. His chest ached, but somehow it felt as though the clenched feeling inside him had let up just a bit. Slipping away from her mother’s grasp as she always so expertly did, Tsubame walked out from under the protection of her parents’ umbrella and came to a stop at Tobari’s side. She grasped his rain-slick hand in her little one and held it, watching with him as they began to lower Dulbari’s casket into the ground.


End file.
